


You Are the Revelation

by sabriel75



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Male Friendship, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/pseuds/sabriel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Arthur’s a slag for all his leading ladies, especially since his theatre troupe’s all male. However, with Merlin, the hottest Juliet to ever be cast opposite him, the usual script suddenly feels awkward and wrong or as Shakespeare would say: the course of true love never did run smooth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are the Revelation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hereticalvision](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalvision/gifts).



The whole point of an all male Shakespeare troupe means things run smoother, more streamlined.

Morgana promised.

Merlin should’ve known better.

And it’s not the damn dress Morgana keeps blaming for his new, apparently inherent bitchiness, because despite all of Arthur’s claims Merlin is a girl, he really isn’t one.

The dress looks nice though — poufy and ruffled and fits him really well. He never knew lavender suited him so or brought out his eyes (both Gwaine and Leon have said so) or how a tight beaded bodice would accentuate his toned arse in such a delicious way that Arthur’s taken to dressing in the broom closet and since it’s right next to costume, it cannot possibly muffle the catcalls Merlin got when he strips out of the gown.

All of these things only have increased Merlin’s love of the theatre. 

What really has his knickers in a twist is Morgana. They might be reliving the drama of Elizabethan times, but there’s no one who does tyrannical better than her. She’s channelling the Virgin Queen like a woman possessed and if Merlin didn’t know better, didn’t know from the many times Gwaine’s blinking bare backside wandered through his flat hellishly too early, he’d think Morgana _was_ Queen Elizabeth reborn.

Morgana, the perfectionist, fused with Morgana, the director, equals his worst nightmare. A nightmare Merlin’s been repeatedly made to perform in over the past six weeks.

If only Merlin could actually get some sleep, he might not be so frequently abused by her, but apparently, **the Avalon Players** manage to be fresh, innovative and completely captivating (the _Sunday Times_ critic’s words, not his) even when working on less sleep than the walking dead.

So when Morgana rampages from the lower stage, Merlin isn’t surprised by the sudden loudness of her shriek or it being right next to his ear.

He’s also too knackered to pay her any mind. He slumps against the nearest piece of scenery thankful for the break.

“Don’t anyone leave the stage! I’m not done with any of you yet,” Morgana commands while grabbing Merlin. She yanks the corset caging his small waist up and twists it back and forth into the presumed position she feels makes him look more like a girl from the Elizabethan period.

“You’re trying too hard,” she says and pokes him in the stomach.

How’s she think poking him is threatening? Merlin can barely breathe in the thing much less feel the tip of her nail. “Girls talk fast,” she explains.

“And too much,” Arthur adds, coming over to stand next to Merlin, who honestly, has taken the most Morgana bullying this week. “Cut him some slack. He’s the new guy and playing Juliet for Christ’s sake!”

“Really Arthur, his flailing will be why we got hanged by the critics.”

Morgana rotates her neck round and round, cracking it, hands clenched in fists at her side. She reeks of tension and bubbling frustration.

Merlin steps closer to Arthur before arguing, “Oi! It’s not just me who bollocksed up. Gwaine flubbed his lines twice tonight trying to scale the trellis. You’re being unfair Morgana.”

Merlin catches Gwaine’s eyes and shrugs apologetically at him for pointing out his mistakes, but Gwaine only winks and nods encouragingly when Merlin continues, “How long have we been here? Give us a break and then let us come back to it, yeah?”

“I know I could use a breather,” Arthur calmly agrees just as Gwaine’s and a variety of others’ “me too’s register across the stage.

Morgana visibly seethes.

“Shit! Morgana, we’re not trying to mutiny. We just need a break,” Arthur starts, apologetic and much too late.

Morgana rounds on him, face flushed and eyes ablaze, “‘Oh, Morgana, you’ll be the best director ever, militant though you are!’ Remember that conversation, Arthur? Am I too much for you, you lot of Nancy-boys?”

Soft murmurs of irritation buzz in the background and Merlin’s afraid Arthur’s words might turn prophetic. He gently squeezes Morgana’s wrist, freeze-framing it where it was slicing air, “Shh… we’re here and willing and you’ve been great, but don’t you need a moment too? Couldn’t you use five minutes rest or something?”

“You’re not my friend on this stage, Merlin,” Morgana says, pulling herself free. “So stop, stop it now.”

“How about you stop being a bitch,” Arthur grits out, any apology gone from his tone.

“Or what Arthur? Will you retract your donation? Some of us have to actually earn top billing y’know. None of us can afford to buy dazzling reviews like you.”

Merlin hears his gasp, jaw cracking at how far his mouth falls open and Gwaine’s disapproving tuts, but Arthur’s blanched, emotionless face is loudest.

Morgana shakes, her eyes full of tears already. Her entreaty comes fast, raw and breathless, “Arthur. Shit. So—”

“Don’t you fucking apologise!”

Arthur moves finally, his footsteps, clipped and sure, and he’s quick to evade Morgana’s pleading hand stretched towards him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Fuck you, Morgana.”

Morgana physically deflates, when Arthur, always with the dramatics, exits stage left. Her wobbly frame comes crashing down, and Merlin, not the most graceful on his best days, topples with her rather than catches her, since he is in a dress, a very authentic Elizabethan tight-fitting costume to be exact.

“Bad form Morgana,” he whispers, hugging her close, like the friend he is and nothing like her leading lady. “I know you and Arthur – well, he’s had to struggle as much as you, maybe more because of what a prick Uther’s been.”

“I know, but everything comes so damn easy to him and he… It’s not like he’s ever stood up for you before! It was weird. He doesn’t get to be nice and make me look like the mean one!”

Merlin kisses her on the temple, “You know I love you, but seriously woman, that’s the bitchiest thing you’ve ever said by way of apology to me. And you owe me a real one.”

“I _am_ sorry,” Morgana says quietly.

“I hope you realise I’m going to have to be the one to go after him. You’re obviously not capable of dealing tonight.”

Gwaine coughs indiscreetly and sort of loud and Merlin loves him for it. “I’ve got this. Go on. The princess probably worked himself into a bloody royal rage by now.”

Merlin hands Morgana over and reluctantly exits stage left himself.

***~***~***

A roll of toilet paper flies at Merlin when he opens Morgana's office doors and he ducks, having expected flying objects. "Still a fucking diva about wiping her arse then?" 

The next roll hits him squarely in the face, pointedly aimed at him and his grin grows, "Oi, now, did you forget? You're not supposed to kill the messenger."

The growled swear from across the room sounds more resigned rather than fuelled by rage. Merlin takes it as an invitation. He tries to navigate the doorway in skirts wider than the door's span, ignoring the next roll that flies next to him, unravelling as it bounces down the hall.

However, when another roll torpedoes past and sends him careening into the door, nearly ripping the bodice of his dress, Merlin does lose patience. "You twat, do be the gentleman you can be and help me through this door!"

"You cannot be serious. I have every right to be furious," Arthur says, petulant, even as he stamps over to Merlin, carefully extracting him through the door and slamming it.

Arthur turns towards Merlin, his forehead creased, halfway between belligerence and amusement. He folds his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed on Merlin, who fusses with his skirts some more before giving up and just dropping to the floor.

His underclothes make the skirts billow around him and he sees Arthur's lips tug up into a smile.

"Christ, Merlin! You don't fight fair," he says, as his grin blooms wide and he sits down across from Merlin, mindful of his and Merlin's costumes. "Stop making me laugh, you evil git!"

"Aww... itty bitty Arthur not ready to forgive and forget," Merlin utters in his most annoying baby voice, leaning forward to tug Arthur into his arms and enfold him in a tight hug.

Tension ripples through Arthur and Merlin massages his shoulders, letting Arthur slump against him. "Of course, I want to forgive and forget," he says brokenly. "They won't let me! She holds it against me every single fucking second of my life, like I had any say in the matter."

"Yeah, but she never got a say either. And now she's sort of at your mercy, isn't she? I'd be livid if you had that kind of control over me."

"She could just take the money, dammit."

"And feel like a charity case all her life?"

"How's that different than now?"

"It's different. She loves you, y'know. She just needs more time."

"I don't know, Merlin. How much time? I want her to be happy and stop holding my father's... our father's grudges even though he's gone."

"Christ Arthur! Uther messed you both up so badly," Merlin hisses, pulling Arthur closer, rubbing small circles into his back.

"You’re not easy to get to know. You do grow on people, I reckon, but you're an arrogant arse the first two years at least and well, the same could be said about Morgana. You and Morgana, you've only had four years knowing each other and look at all you've done. This troupe's success? Only happened because you and Morgana worked together."

Arthur budges up next to Merlin, burying his face in Merlin's neck before responding. "I don't want to talk about it any more. S'not helping.”

"I've got skills that might help," Merlin suggests cheekily and giggles at how quickly Arthur straightens up, his gaze assessing.

"Not funny, Merlin, and not helping."

"Oh no, hmm...,” Merlin hums, “Leon assured me that if things got too bad, getting on my knees was the best way to handle you. Gwaine agreed. Actually, loads of your leads agreed. Rumour is, you've got a very pretty –”

"Merlin, I'll stuff your mouth full of toilet paper if you finish that sentence."

“Right idea minus the toilet paper.”

***~***~***

Arthur paces, like a caged lion, back and forth in front of Morgana’s desk and all Merlin can do is stare hungrily up at him. Ever since he joined the troupe, he’s been looking for an excuse to suck Arthur off. It’s a tradition the boys have with all their leading ladies and well, they’re all boys here so he should damn well be a part of it.

He’s a bit miffed it’s taken this long to have the opportunity.

“What’s the problem? You obviously like it and I like it, so —” Merlin shrugs, scooting forward on his knees and planting both his hands to the front of Arthur’s thighs. “Quit thinking so hard. That’s the whole point.”

“I, uh, Merlin.” And Arthur pulls off Merlin’s hands to squeeze them in his own.

What the fuck?

Eyes, sharp and icy-blue, meet his. “I told her it was a bad idea. Told her not to hire you for this play. Knew this would happen. You’re my friend... our friend Merlin.”

Merlin must play catch-up, his mind reeling on high speed as he sorts through what Arthur just said to find something he comprehends.

“You won’t. We can’t, because Morgana might get upset?” Merlin splutters. “Then why has Gwaine had his hands and mouth on your cock, and I can’t?!”

“Haven’t I ruined her life enough? She relies on you!”

“For fuck’s sake, never had to talk a bloke into oral sex! It’s just a blow job, Arthur, not a verbal contract – or whatever weird situation you’ve concocted in your head that’s cock-blocking me! I’ll still be friends with both of you after I’ve sucked – ”

“Must you make it sound so vulgar?! I like you, you stupid twat.”

“And yet, here I am, on my knees in front of you and you still haven’t really said no,” Merlin points out, a smirk widening across his face when he notices the bulge in Arthur’s trousers.

“Christ Merlin, you kill me dead.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Arthur makes creepy sex hand signals above his crotch that have Merlin snorting against his leg. “You really want this?”

“Said that already, haven’t I,” Merlin says, muffling his laughter on the inside of Arthur’s thighs before biting the sensitive skin there and making Arthur whine high in his throat.

“Mer _lin_.” His name comes out breathless, like every thought flew from Arthur’s brain and he could only find Merlin’s name remaining. And Merlin wants to bite his way up a little higher and wet his lips and go all out, but his conscience keeps butting in, reminding him that Arthur hasn’t actually said yes. He summons the strength to stop rolling and teasing the skin between his teeth when he hears Arthur’s broken pleas, “Stop. No. We can’t. Stop, Merlin. Please.”

“Arth _urrrrrr_ ,” Merlin whines, falling backwards, flat on his bum. The only way he can take his hands, his mouth away, is by physically putting distance between them.

“I can’t. We shouldn’t. Christ! Goddamit! Fuck it! I like you –”

“Huh?” Merlin stares stupidly, sex-crazed and thoroughly confused until something clicks... _oh_. “Oh!”

“Idiotic, isn’t it? But I like you, the kind of like you that actually means I’m a little in love with you,” Arthur blurts out, steadying Merlin because he might be swaying from shock.

“You never said anything.”

“Morgana,” Arthur says, like that explains it and the thing is, it does. Merlin knows how much Arthur feels he’s to blame for all that Morgana has suffered. He too has spent loads of time nursing her back to reality, a reality that allowed her to be a friend and business partner to her half brother she never knew until Uther died and left his godawful, mean-spirited will.

“She needs you and found you first and it wouldn’t have been right. It isn’t right for me to take you away when I’m sort of responsible for nearly everything else wrong in her life.”

“Bollocks.” Merlin pushes up on Arthur, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and clinging. “Don’t you dare talk yourself out of this, whatever this is, because you think I’d abandon either of you if we didn’t work out.”

And really, Merlin thinks, there’s no better way to let Arthur know this than by kissing him. So he does. He lets himself go there, because, as often as Arthur probably has pulled back, tried to not let himself fall, Merlin has done the same.

He keeps the kiss simple, not wanting to spook Arthur, or if he’s honest with himself, freak himself out either. The soft press of his lips connecting with Arthur’s feels right and more than anything he’d imagined in the few fleeting moments he has dwelled upon _what ifs_.

It should feel weird, and scarier, because, they’re dragging along a whole bin of emotional garbage into this with them; it doesn’t. This is Arthur – who he’s loved and cared for and watched with greedy desire for over four years – digging shaky hands into his sides, sliding them up, pushing them through his hair to angle his head, cup his jaw so that he can lick into Merlin’s mouth and kiss him hard.

And that’s _just perfect_.

***~***~***

And that’s how it starts. Arthur doesn’t ask, doesn’t take it slow like Merlin has been. He acts entitled to anything Merlin’s willing to give, which is everything. 

Merlin would give anything, everything to hear the throaty moans spilling from Arthur every day, and when he looks down, Arthur’s wrecked: his lips red, glistening from their kisses, face flushed, and his eyes brighter and clearer than Merlin has ever seen them. He’s so insanely gorgeous that Merlin leans in for another lingering kiss before casting his eyes downwards, bending at the knees and wetly mouthing right over the outline of Arthur’s dick straining against the material there.

“This one’s for good luck. M’not this easy with blokes I’d like to go out with,” Merlin says, untying the strings at the costume’s fly.

“How’s the saying go?” Merlin chuckles against Arthur’s straining cock, letting the vibrations of his laughs pulse through his lips as he hooks deft fingers into Arthur’s waistband and tugs the pants all the way down to Arthur’s ankles before coming back up and stroking him slow and easy. “Dress rehearsal slays. Pendragon blows. A good stage show.”

“You cannot seriously be fucking discussing theatre superstitions right this fucking minute?” Arthur asks, winded and voice an octave higher than it was moments ago.

“Maybe.” Merlin leans in, moulding his lips around the head of Arthur’s dick, getting a feel for it, the taste of it, before popping off. Ignoring Arthur’s plaintive keen, he adds, “Morgana might have mentioned something about sucking your brains out so you’d forget being such a stupid, gentlemanly git when she hired me.”

“Y’think she might know how we feel already?”

“Merlin. Shut up.” 

Arthur pets Merlin’s hair, tangles his hands in it and tilts Merlin’s head back, lining his cock up so it can slide in and out without any effort on Merlin’s part. “Is it okay if I? If you want this time to be for some stupid theatre tradition, then this is how it’d go. How I’d want it.”

“Plus it’ll keep your dress from getting mussed.”

Merlin nods and Arthur pushes in and down deep, making Merlin gag around him, forcing open his throat. He lets Arthur set up a rhythm, a gentle easing in and out after the first initial test of Merlin’s limits. He sucks hard as Arthur pulls up and out, letting his tongue drag across the underside of his cock and curl around the head of it, moaning aloud and hearing Arthur make some half-choked noise above him. 

It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

And it gets even better, knowing that the heady hum of arousal anxiously building, so demanding, making his brain shut down, is because he’s giving into someone he trusts and can relax into since this won’t be the last time he gets _this_... this warm weight, filling his mouth inch by inch, in and out and constantly sending the hottest rush of sensations through his bloodstream.

Arthur cries out and Merlin has to steady himself, one hand on the desk, the other flying to his own dick, pressing hard and punishing to keep it from leaking. He chokes on a particular deep thrust, and whines when Arthur pulls up and out again slowly. Fuck, he wants... no needs, needs it faster and grabs Arthur’s hips, slamming them against the desk as he bobs up and down, his pace frenzied. Arthur’s breath catches onto his rhythm, his hips follow when Merlin’s too caught up in the rough push and suction of his mouth and lips to keep them pinned. 

“Merlin, _fuck_.”

They’ve reached the part where this goes beyond just a simple fuck. Merlin sits back on his heels and looks up at Arthur expectant and greedy, maybe with a glint of challenge. He wants to be taken, has shown Arthur exactly how, so he closes his eyes, relaxes his aching jaw and begs quietly. 

Arthur hesitates – a second, two, three and then he’s giving into Merlin, thrusting in and out, in and out and faster and deeper, panting loudly in time to Merlin’s keening groans. Merlin curls his hands around Arthur’s ankles, steadying himself, as Arthur cants himself forward over and over again and finally shoots down his throat: hot, thick and sudden.

Merlin cannot remember how to breathe. 

“Swallow Merlin,” he hears, vaguely aware of Arthur’s fingers gently massaging his adam’s apple.

He does and slumps, full upper body against Arthur’s legs.

“You’re rather brilliant, you know,” Arthur says and Merlin can feel all the tension has gone out of him and knows the compliment comes from the afterglow of orgasm.

“Hmm. Yes, I am,” Merlin agrees, straightening up to tuck Arthur back in and make him presentable for the stage, where they’re expected and soon.

“How about we ditch and go back to my flat to finish this?” Arthur asks, wrapping boneless arms around Merlin in a loose hug, but tugging him towards the door. 

“I’m no slag,” Merlin snottily replies, as if he hadn’t just let Arthur fuck his mouth minutes ago. “You’ve got to woo me.”

He laughs and Arthur tackles him, pushes him up against the wall with a “you’re such a girl, Merlin.”

“Whatev, it’s just dinner, around nine-ish or whenever Morgana lets us out of here, yeah?” 

“Hmm, that’s late and we won’t have time to do anything afterwards. You’ve got your first paying audience tomorrow night.”

“Tell me you’re winding me up, because I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since script readings and have kept up with all of you depraved theatre types this entire production.”

"Oh, I see how it is, you _reprobate_. You will do _anything_ on the first date, just not until after dinner and your role in the play is secured."

“Have some pity on a starving artist. I’ve no idea when my next meal will be. Gotta take it when I can get it.”

“Yeah? Me too. Take it when I can get it, that is,” Arthur huffs against Merlin’s neck, nipping at his jaw before licking from it to the shell of Merlin’s ear.

Merlin cannot help his head tipping back or the soft moans he makes when Arthur bites gently on his earlobe. “You should let me take care of this,” Arthur whispers, his hand cupping Merlin’s erection through the dress.

 _Oh fuck!_ Merlin’s pushes up into Arthur’s hand before he stops himself, and only then, by thinking about how even with four layers of underclothes, if he comes, there’ll be a wet spot on the front of the dress.

“Stop! Stop Arthur. Morgana will cut off my bollocks if I go back on stage with a jizzed up dress.”

“I’ll just pay for a new one to be made.”

“Christ Arthur! Tomorrow’s opening night. There’s no time.” Merlin pushes Arthur off. “Now who’s acting like an entitled wanker?”

“Spoilsport,” Arthur mutters, his arms sliding away from Merlin reluctantly. “She started it though. You coming out in a cum-stained dress would be the perfect payback.”

Arthur grins wickedly, “C’mon. Isn’t it just?”

“You’re evil and… and that is a horribly perfect revenge, yeah, but I’m not you and that’s…”

“Hey now, only joking,” Arthur says hurriedly, plopping a wet buss on Merlin’s lips and straightening the dress and corset before tidying up his own costume. “There. She’ll never suspect you lifted your skirts for Romeo in the back office.”

“You’re no Romeo,” Merlin says with fake remorse, “but I suppose you’ll do, since I’m no Juliet.”

Arthur laughs, head thrown back and pulls Merlin along backstage. “You’re perfect playing opposite my lead, I’ll give Morgana that.”

“Really? I thought Romeo follows Juliet’s lead, prat?”

“That’s not in my script,” Arthur says confidently as he pulls the exit curtain aside and pushes Merlin back out on stage, startling everyone.

Morgana looks up from Gwaine’s embrace, her eyes red-brimmed and puffy. Her head tilts awkwardly, questioning and confused maybe, until Arthur steps up behind Merlin. His hand sure on Merlin’s back, Arthur leads them to their proper stage positions, right where they were before the blowup.

“Any time, Morgana.” Arthur snaps, but he’s smiling widely at Morgana as she claps her hands loudly, rounding everyone up like ducklings and calling, “Places people. Move. Move. Move.”

While everyone gets situated, Arthur leans into Merlin, teasing smile still in place as he kisses Merlin, thoroughly and with tongue. Merlin’s panting into his mouth when he asks, “Ready for your close-up darling?”

The entire stage is set, cast positioned, laughing at their lead actors.

Merlin’s cheeks pinken but he pulls himself away, dignified as he can, after being caught snogging in public and answers, “Break a leg, Arthur.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merlin Holidays and can be found on LJ here: [You Are the Revelation](http://merlin-holidays.livejournal.com/41615.html)
> 
> Many thanks to [prplhez8](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prplhez8/pseuds/prplhez8) and [zafra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zafra/works) who keep me sane when my writing really is just a frenzied typing of ideas towards the ending in mind. Oh and a title... why must I always have a title?!


End file.
